Mia pictured Anne sitting in the green rocking chair—knees covered with a blanket, yarn resting on her lap. She would read for a while, then knit for a while, then pick the book back up again, eyes gleaming with excitement…

“Anne, why are you knitting a sweater already? It’s still summer!”
“If I start now, I’ll have time to finish yours, and Mom’s and Dad’s too.”
“What about yours?”
“Hmm… maybe someday you’ll knit one for me?”
“I will! Once I finish this book, I’m going to learn how to knit. I’ll put a bunny on your sweater!”
“Really? Then I’ll be looking forward to it!”

Clive gently tapped her shoulder.

“Mia, are you alright?”

“Oh—yes. I’m fine. I was just… surprised there are so many books.”

“I heard my mother’s been collecting them since she was a young lady,” Clive said proudly. “When she moved here after marriage, she made sure not a single book was left behind.”

There was unmistakable pride in his tone as he went on,

“Books are incredibly heavy for their size, you know? The movers charged double. Mother said that during the move, she thought, ‘I could never marry three times—moving once is enough!’ Can you believe that? Saying it just because of books—Mother’s something else.”

Mia couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

She ran her fingers along the rows of shelves, tracing the spines one by one. Not a speck of dust clung to her fingertips. The library, it seemed, was cared for with meticulous attention.

“Since Henry Milton’s Sonnets is literature, it should be on this side,” Clive said.

They decided to split the shelves between them and search.

What surprised Mia most was that the literature section was nearly twice as large as the nonfiction one.

I didn’t think Lady Sina read novels, she thought. So she was a literature lover after all.

As Mia examined the old, well-kept books, she felt as though she were quietly peeking into Lady Sina’s younger tastes—her secret world of stories and sentiment.

There are so many romance novels.

For some reason, that made Mia feel unexpectedly close to her.

While running her gaze along the spines, Mia spotted a first edition of Liberty and the Rose on the top shelf.

“Oh! That’s such a rare copy!”

The first edition of Liberty and the Rose had been self-published by the author and distributed only among close acquaintances. Each copy had a numbered marking from 1 to 50 on the front page.

She must have had quite a few friends.

It was also well-known among avid romance readers that when the book was officially published later, its “questionable scenes” had been removed.

Mia fetched a footstool, climbed up, and reached for it with all her might—but her fingertips just barely grazed the spine.

“Just a little… more—ah!”

The moment she rose on tiptoe, her balance gave way.

Before she could fall, a firm hand caught her around the waist from behind.

“Careful,” Clive murmured.

“Ah—huff, th-thank you,” she stammered.

“What were you trying to grab?”

“T-that one…” she said, pointing up at the book.

“The Countess of Monte Cristo’s Love?” Clive read the title aloud.

That was—well—an er*tic novel!

How Mia knew that was… her own little secret.

She waved her hands frantically. “Not that one! Liberty and the Rose!“

Clive easily reached up and pulled it down—without even standing on tiptoe.

He’s really tall…

Up close, he even smelled nice. Flustered, Mia stepped back slightly as she accepted the book.

She flipped open the cover right away and turned to the title page, checking the top right corner.

8.

Her lips curved in delight. Number eight—an early copy. That meant the recipient had been a close acquaintance of the author.

How did she even get this?

“If you’d like, you can borrow it,” Clive offered as she carefully turned the pages.

Mia jumped like she’d been burned. “No! No, it’s fine, really!”

“What if I want to lend it to you?”

“…Thank you. I’ll read it carefully and return it right away.”

“Alright. Take your time. Oh—by the way, looks like Henry Milton’s Sonnets isn’t here, huh?”

Mia’s face fell slightly as she nodded.

“What a shame…” Clive murmured.

After searching the shelves one last time, they finally gave up and left the library.

With Liberty and the Rose tucked under her arm, Mia glanced absently down the corridor—until her eyes caught on a closed door. She pointed toward it.

“That room…”

“It wouldn’t be in the ‘small room’,” Clive said.

“‘Small room’?”

Now that she thought about it, she’d never once seen that door open.

“It’s more like a graveyard for unwanted art,” Clive explained with mock gravity. Then, after a pause, he added, “Actually… my father has a condition.”

Mia blinked, suddenly worried. “Oh… I see…”

“Yes. Whenever he sees something beautiful, he completely loses control.”

“…Pardon?”

“He says that if he doesn’t buy it right away, his hands start trembling, his breathing quickens, and he feels like he’s about to faint.”

“…You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Correct.”

“Young Master!”

Clive laughed, brushing his fringe back with a grin. “Sorry. Your expression was too cute—I couldn’t resist.”

“Anyway, he gets sent so many things from abroad that we just store them all in that room. Since books aren’t really his interest, I can say for sure your Sonnets wouldn’t be in there.”

“I see,” Mia said, nodding in understanding.

A small yawn escaped before she could stop it. She covered her mouth politely.

It was a quiet, peaceful afternoon—the kind that made everything feel a little slower, a little softer.

Her eyes grew moist as she stared down the empty corridor.

Golden sunlight streamed in, and specks of dust drifted through the air like the first fall of snow.

And there, standing in the middle of it all, was Clive—like someone’s first love come to life.

He looked visibly more tense than a moment ago. His thin, pink lips parted slightly.

“Actually… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mia. I’ve wanted to say it for a while, but I couldn’t find the courage.”

“Yes? What is it?”

Clive swallowed hard, the sound faint but clear between them. Strangely, Mia’s own heart began to thump in sync with his. She clutched Liberty and the Rose tightly in her hands.

Clive began, “Would you… go out wi—”

“What are you two doing?”

“Kyaa—!”

Mia shrieked at the sudden voice that cut through the air from behind. She turned to see Oscar, his expression utterly unimpressed, walking toward them.

He gave Clive and Mia each a flat, unamused look before repeating,

“I asked—what are you two doing here?”

***

On his way back to his room after rowing practice, Oscar had spotted his brother and the tutor standing side by side in the middle of the second-floor corridor.

He’d sensed the strange atmosphere right away.

Sunlight was pouring over them through the glass windows in a blinding flood of gold. Outside, the lush greenery shimmered vividly—and the stillness around them made the scene all the more suspicious.

The golden scene before him could have been a painting—two striking figures, perfectly framed by light and air.

A handsome man and a lovely woman, standing close in that sun-drenched corridor.

With a backdrop like that, Oscar thought grimly, even complete strangers would start catching feelings.

In his mind, romance was nothing more than the product of atmosphere—and the atmosphere right now was far too romantic.

Almost reflexively, he strode forward, his steps quicker than intended.

“What are you doing?”

Even his question came out too sharp.

Mia yelped like a child caught misbehaving, and Clive, too, looked rather flustered.

What on earth were they talking about?

For a fleeting second, Oscar had the urge to sit them both down and interrogate them like a magistrate. But then he spotted the book in Mia’s hands—Liberty and the Rose—and reined himself in.

“The library?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the book.

Mia instinctively clutched it to her chest, defensive. Clive answered in her stead.

“We were looking for something. But you had quite a long practice today, didn’t you, Oscar?”

“It’s the busiest time of the season,” Oscar said flatly. Then, narrowing his eyes, he added, “Is that what you found? Liberty and the Rose? Isn’t that the one with all the dirty bits?”

Mia looked as if she might faint.

“H-how do you know that? Did you read it?”

“Yeah.”

“You read romance novels, Young Master?”

“What do you take me for?” Oscar snorted, clearly offended. “Of course I didn’t know it was one. But it was actually pretty good—realistic, vivid… a bit indecent, sure, but still.”

He had picked it up thinking it was a political novel about revolution—and, to be fair, the beginning was exactly that. But as the story went on, the revolutionary leader’s relationship with the very aristocrat he was sworn to overthrow took an entirely different, rather scandalous turn…

…with a nobleman’s daughter, their fates tangled in a web of passion and betrayal. Anyway—

That wasn’t what he was curious about.

“So, if that’s not the book you were looking for,” Oscar asked, brow raised, “were you two playing treasure hunt or something?”

“…”

“Can’t I join in too?” he added, his tone deceptively light but edged with something sharp beneath.